


To Fly Toward a Secret Sky

by Frolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26266987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frolmes/pseuds/Frolmes
Summary: A compilation of one-shots about the lives of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet."
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	To Fly Toward a Secret Sky

**Author's Note:**

> John is cheating, Sherlock is sure. Is there any other possibility?

**T** hey used to dance. They used to slow dance around the flat, ‘Perhaps Love’ by Pláciodo Domingo and John Denver playing.

Sherlock would hum along, holding John close to him, softly singing.

“And in those times of trouble, when you are most alone – the memory of love will bring you home”

And it was whilst holding John close, dancing with him, softly singing the next words, that Sherlock realised he loved John. How _much he_ _loved_ _him_ , with all his heart:  
“If I should live forever, and all my dreams come true, my memories of love will be of you.”

That’s when he realised that no matter what, this was love, and forever his memories of love would be of John. There was no other for him.

But it had gotten cold in the flat. Everything was the same, and then somehow, it was so different.

As John sat in his chair, in the white jumper Sherlock loved, well, this was love. To be silent, alone together, yes indeed, this was love, Sherlock concluded.

The snow was glistening on the streets, on top of cars, it was almost Christmas, almost their anniversary.

Sherlock glanced at his partner of 4 years, smiles still induced by him. Even though Sherlock hated the way he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Wouldn’t have any other love.

John felt lucky every day. Felt so lucky that he had this love to call his, to call Sherlock his, and only his. To know that Sherlock wouldn’t want anyone else the way he had John.

It warmed his heart, even though he felt guilty for leaving Sherlock in the dark about what he was doing.

John scratched his side and put the computer on the table, walking past Sherlock – but not without putting a small kiss to the consulting detectives head. Sherlock looked up, asking for yet another kiss, and John happily pressed his lips against Sherlocks.

Sherlock smiled.

Then John disappeared up to his old bedroom, something he almost never did, making Sherlocks stomach turn just a little bit, worried.

Sherlock was a worrier, bless him. He always wanted to be reassured that everything was good, and when John answered him ‘yes, love, everything’s perfectly alright’, well, Sherlock didn’t believe him.

That was probably why he decided to follow John upstairs, waiting til he heard the door shut.

When Sherlock listened at Johns door, his worries were only affirmed.

“No, he doesn’t know, I promise! Yes, I’ll see you at three o’clock. Do you have the address? Great!”

Sherlocks heart fell to his stomach as he retreated down to their bedroom and laid down as if he was about to die. He felt as if he was.

John didn’t come look for Sherlock, to Sherlocks regret. Maybe there was no love left, even if he felt it. Maybe there was something different, and maybe it was Sherlocks fault.

Sherlock didn’t know, and he sure as hell didn’t stop loving John.

Then he heard the door shut. He looked at the clock. It was half past two, so John would have to leave now to meet his _affair_ , Sherlock thought.

Then the Devil possessed him: He needed to know who took John from him, who the mystery person was, and if they were better than Sherlock. Obviously not, Sherlock thought.

He ran down the stairs, anger painted in his face, when Mrs. Hudson stopped him on his way.

“Sherlock, dear, come have a cuppa,” and before Sherlock could say anything, she had pulled him aside.

When Sherlock was let back out of Mrs. Hudsons flat, John was already back.

“Hi, you,” he said without looking at Sherlock, and it stung.

Sherlock watched him closely. There were multiple signs, the ketchup around his lips indicating he had eaten with his “date”, the shoes were new and expensive, and when Sherlock examined Johns coat pocket without John seeing, he found a receipt.

_‘Moore Jeweller’._ The receipt didn’t say what was bought, but it was expensive. So a lady. John was cheating on Sherlock with some lady.

Sherlock decided to go lie down in their shared bed.

When Sherlock awoke, John was not beside him as usual, the bed very cold. Sherlocks heart was, too, as well as a little numb.

He got up anyways. It was Christmas day after all, his and … His and Johns anniversary would be at midnight. Had John forgotten? Had John gotten bored of him?

He made himself a cup of tea, appetite completely gone.

He didn't see John that morning, and when Lestrade called in the afternoon, he just went, desperate to forget about how he was slowly losing the man he loved.

The case was boring, solved in just a couple hours, but Lestrade insisted on treating Sherlock to dinner as a thank you. He never did that, Sherlock noticed, but maybe it was because his wife left, and he wanted to talk to someone about it.

Sherlock was not the right man for the job. He didn’t want to talk about being left.

But Lestrade didn’t speak about that. As Sherlocks chicken arrived as well as Lestrades steak, he looked at Sherlock and asked:  
“How’s it going with you and John? Your anniversary tonight, right?”

Sherlock huffed.

“At least _someone_ remembered.”

“John didn’t remember?” Lestrade asked as he stuffed the fork in his mouth.

“No.”  
Lestrade smirked, an expression Sherlock could not read.

“Well, you can still be surprised.”

Sherlock sighed. What did Lestrade know anyways? He didn’t know that John had an affair, didn’t know that John didn’t love him anymore. Lestrade didn’t know anything. He hadn’t been there – hadn’t seen what Sherlock had seen. Cause John cheating wasn’t just a possible explanation of some of the fact. John cheating was the only explanation of all the facts.

Sherlock was in pain the rest of the dinner.

When he stood in front of Baker Street, he hesitated to walk in. The whole thing had gotten too much as he sat in the cab on the way home, and tears had formed in his eyes.

He didn’t want to come home to an empty flat.

He grounded himself and went in, went slowly up the stairs.

It was almost midnight.

The door to the living room was closed, Sherlock didn’t understand why. But when he opened it, he was taken aback.

John stood there, candles in the whole flat, even in the kitchen, and the speakers were playing ‘Perhaps Love’. It was … Their song.

John looked beaming in the jumper Sherlock had giften him the year prior, and Sherlocks heart had stopped beating as John came closer.

“Sherlock,” Johns voice was warm, and Sherlock didn’t know what was going on.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but he guessed he wasn’t supposed to, for John continued.

“Sherlock, in all my life, I’ve been escaping when things got too hard. I fled from my family, my bigoted father, to London I fled from myself to Afghanistan. But you … You keep me grounded.”

Sherlock didn’t understand anything at all, and when he tried to speak, John just smiled and continued.

“When I saw you, at Barts, it was as if everything stopped. I had found my home, and God, if I could stay forever in your arms, Sherlock, I could never be unhappy.

You saved my life once, when I didn’t see a reason to live. You kept me alive and happy.

I will spend the rest of my life making you feel the same, if you’ll let me.”

John didn’t shake at all when he got down on one knee, and now, finally, it clicked for Sherlock.

John was proposing to him.

As John pulled a ring box from his pocket, Sherlock felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes …,” John said with a beaming smile and tears in his eyes, “Will you … Will you marry me?”

Sherlock didn’t notice his own tears falling down as he fell to the floor to stand on his knees in front of John.

Eyes filled with insecurity, Sherlock asked with a shaking voice:  
“You’re not … You’re not cheating on me? All the signs said so. When you talked on the phone, went to the jeweller, when you weren’t home the whole day of our anniversary?”

John giggled.

“I was speaking to Harry. We went to pick out this,” he waved the ring box, “I … I was out the whole day because I went to your parents to ask for their blessing, ask their permission to marry you. They said yes, by the way”

Sherlock sniffled, and pulled John in to kiss him, happy tears on their cheeks.

When they pulled apart, John held out the ring.

“So … Sherlock, do you – do you want to marry me?”

Sherlock laughed in disbelief that the man he loved wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.

As he looked John in the eyes, there was nothing but love there. No doubt, insecurity, or fear.

Just love.

“There’s nothing I want more, John.”

Then the clock struck midnight.


End file.
